


Do You Know?

by Control_Room



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Dad Spy, Family, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lonely Scout, Others Mentioned - Freeform, Questions, Trans Scout, alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 07:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21490678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: Scout doesn't have much respect for people who drink too much, but a little comment hits off a conversation.
Relationships: Scout & Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 153





	Do You Know?

Scout liked to think he was, and looked, and acted, unique. He liked to feel special, to feel important and helpful. Out of his siblings, he was the runt, and out of his mercenary pals, he was the youngest and also, again, the runt. Despite it all, he still felt happy where he was, hurting people before they could know what hit them, whether it be a shotgun bullet to the chest or a bat to the face. He took pride in his work, flanking and blasting away, snatching and shoving, jumping so fast it seemed he glided on air. He did his job, and did it hella well.

And he did not like the time that he was not doing it.

Like mess hall.

For one thing, the eating area was loud, almost painfully so. It reminded him of his crowded Boston lunch table, trying to get a bite of food to eat, his brothers devouring it before he could, and his mother trying to make up for it by giving him half of a sandwich or an apple, but it never filled him much, he feeling hungry all the time. It also reminded him of school, where he struggled to do anything, his teachers always bypassing him in favor of smarter students. It made him angry, but more upset? Frustrated. It made him frustrated to always be overlooked. 

And left behind, by everyone and everything; his brothers, his team, his troop, his father. So he learned to run ahead of the pack. He was the one to slam in and leave with a bang. He was the rough one of the group, the one that caused problems for the other side, and even sometimes for his own team. The only person that tolerated him was Miss Pauling, and that was only when she was around. He felt rather lonely, but he ran ahead of it, not letting his loneliness catch up to him. He ran fast, and he ran often. He ran to and away, and into the fray. The adrenaline kept him good, rough, and tough company. That was the way it was and always would be. He did not need anyone or anything.

He was the best of the best, top of the line, Scout master extraordinaire, Jeremy [REDACTED], and his good for nothing father did not matter, never did, never would.

Or, so he thought.

He wished he was not around that night, he wished he had gone jogging with Sniper or chatted with Medic, or just relaxed and listened to Engi’s music. He wished he was not there the night Demo and Spy had gone out for drinks, and he especially wished he was not around for the aftermath. Seeing Spy come in and leaning heavily on Demo, both smelling of expensive sherry, vodka, and Pinot Noir, Scout lifted his chin and turned away from them both in disgust. Though he was a rough and tough lad from messy streets, those same streets gave him standards, and those that drank on the battlefield for fun lost some of his respect, which, despite what people believed, he had a lot of. He could respect people, just as he respected Sniper and… um… Medic, and Heavy. The reason why he hated drinking was the cost and toll it had on a person, and how badly it lowered their chances of survival. Also, Miss Pauling had told him that she was of the same opinion, and it made him feel good to be verified. Scout personally disliked the idea of inebriation, why would anyone remove their clarity willingly when they could die at a moment’s notice? Why would someone waste their life for a little bit of buzz or good feeling? It just was not worth it to him. He trusted Demo to hold his alcohol, and yes, Spy knew what he was doing, but it still felt very wrong to him, a primal gut feeling. In his life, rather short so far, he learned to trust that instinct, and seeing Spy in a drunken good mood set off that fire screaming something was terribly wrong. He sucked in a breath, and let it out, just like Medic taught him, to calm down. 

The mess hall was quiet, for once, and for once, Scout wished it was not. Demo crashed into his room to sleep (quite literally), and Spy chuckled, waving him off before his gray blue eyes swept over to Scout. Scout pretended not to notice, burying his nose in the picture based novel Miss Pauling had gotten for him, Cugo Habret. He loved the storyline and mystery, and the big print in the written parts made it much easier for him to read it. Miss Pauling was the best.

He felt Spy’s eyes on him, and he shuddered. Couldn’t the guy just go to bed or go to his room or just  _ leave him alone _ ?

No. Instead, Spy sauntered over to him, sitting beside him in an armchair. Scout went through the motions of curling up a little more and putting his face in his book, but his eyes were trained on Spy. Spy, who was looking at him with a… strange expression, and was that a smile, not a smirk? Scout could not tell from the corner of his eye, and frankly, either would just make his skin crawl with the anxiety of it.

“You look like her,” Spy softly spoke, his cheek in hand, studying Scout with semishut eyes. “You got her attitude, too. Spunky, street smart, the works.”

“Uh, hey, Spy, pal,” Scout made it seem like he just noticed him as he processed the words. “Didn’t notice ya sneak up on me. Hey, the hell are you talking about?”

“I know very well that you saw me,” Spy curtly corrected him. “You should know better than play dumb with me, Jeremy.”

“I ain’t playin’ dumb,” Scout defended himself. “I really don’t know what you’re yammerin’ on about. Look like who? Got whose attitude?”

“Your mother’s.”

At first, Scout was going to brush it off as a snappy joke, one that fit Spy’s personality very well. But something clicked, and it hit him in the chest harder than a flyby baseball.

“Well, bonne nuit, Scout.”

He got up and left to his room, Scout staring after him with a slack jaw.

Then he jumped up and ran to Spy, his hands flying to the other man’s chest to stop him. 

“Wait, wait, what do you know about my Ma?”

Spy, even in his drunkenness, could hear the desperate plea in Scout’s voice.

“Do… do you know where she is?”

Scout’s voice broke.

“C’mon Spy, you gotta help me, I’ve been spending so much to look for her, I need to know that she’s safe, please… Spy. I’m not good at lookin’ for people, I’m good at runnin’ from people looking for  _ me _ . Do you know where my Ma is?”

“She is safe,” Spy coldly told the young man, watching relief flood his face, then worry. Spy spoke again before Scout could, his mouth already open. “I can assure you, she is fine.”

“Oh thank god,” Scout muttered under his breath, trusting the intelligence. “Thank you, man. It means a lot to me. To know she’s safe and ok. That’s why I got this job, bein’ a merc, you know.”

Spy did know, so he just nodded. 

“Thanks again, Spy. You have a good night,” Scout smiled at him. Spy rose an eyebrow, and asked, “Aren’t you going to sleep yourself?”

“Nah, I didn’t run today. Too much energy.”

“Hmph. And what about tomorrow? What will you do when we are under attack?”

Scout shrugged. 

“Ain’t the first time I went without sleep, Spy.” He folded his arms and grinned. “That surprised you, didn’t it? Guess I’m more elusive than I thought.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Spy ordered him, but it was a bark without bite. “Just because I don’t keep my eye on your schedules doesn’t mean that I don’t know more about you than you do.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Scout smiled. “You have a lovely night, Mr. Spy. I’m gonna see if Medic is up, or maybe look at the stars with Engi. I’ll see when I get to it.”

Spy rolled his eyes and turned back to enter his room, when Scout suddenly spoke again.

“If you know my Ma…” he shifted uncomfortably, both men’s backs to one another. “Do you know my Pop? Like, who he was? Where he is, if he’s still alive?”

“Your father?”

“Yeah. My brothers all tell me that I had a different dad than them. That their dad died a year before I was born.”

“I do not know him.”

“Oh. Well, that’s ok.” Scout tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. “Makes sense. Still, thanks for the info on my Ma, Spy. G'night.”

Scout saluted, and left. Spy sat alone in his smoking room, foot tapping, then took out his booklet, flipping through it, stopping on a page.

An old photograph with a baby in a grinning man’s arms peered at him. He smiled softly, touching the baby’s face through the waxy paper.


End file.
